


A Danger to Himself and Others

by ferriswheeldiary



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: 13 Reasons Why Season 4, Bisexual Clay Jensen, Bisexual Justin Foley, Brother Justin Foley, Clay Jensen Needs a Hug, Gay, Gay Male Character, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by 13 Reasons Why (TV), Love at First Sight, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Minor Violence, Protective Justin Foley, Psych Ward, Recovery, Referenced Hannah Baker, Romance, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, dramatized, hospital love, implied Clustin, mature language, psychiatric hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferriswheeldiary/pseuds/ferriswheeldiary
Summary: **13 REASONS WHY SEASON 4 SPOILERS**What if Clay had stayed in the psychiatric hospital instead of escaping?A one-parter story.
Relationships: Clay Jensen/Original Male Character(s), Justin Foley/Clay Jensen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	A Danger to Himself and Others

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I hope you like this lengthy one part story. This is just a general trigger warning as 13 Reasons Why is a mature show that tackles real world issues. I won't be using a lot of specific trigger warnings besides this one, but if you're triggered by psychiatric hospitals, hospitals in general, or suicide, this story might not be right for you. Read at your own discretion. I know every psychiatric ward experience is different, but the bulk of it is using my experiences, but with added drama for your entertainment. However, because there is added drama does not mean I am ROMANTICIZING suicide or psychiatric facilities. This is simply because if I were to make it completely 'realistic', this story would be boring. Thank you for understanding. Happy reading!

In California, there is a strict one to four hour limit on keeping a psychiatric patient restrained (minus the times they say that they have to use the bathroom). I was kept restrained for four hours, or at least that’s what I was told. I didn’t know what time it was because one, I didn’t have my phone, and two, there were no clocks in sight. All that I knew was that I would eventually be released. Upon my freedom, I asked to change back into my clothes, but the nurse that was watching me carelessly for that supposed four hours said that my belongings that were on me from when I was taken in the ambulance had been taken home, but my mom had left me a few outfits, toiletries, my favorite comics, and a journal if I felt so inclined to document my time here. Everything had been inspected, so I was free to rid myself of that awful gown and put on real clothes once I was escorted to my room. 

Careless Carl, as what I’ve decided to call this incompetent nurse, finally led me out of the observation area I was put in when I arrived from the general emergency room. Everything was happening so fast at the time that I didn’t even look much at the psychiatric ward that awaited me. My bare feet tapped against the linoleum floors. Poor feet. I wasn’t even allowed to have those yellow grip socks that one ER nurse gave to me yet. Who knows what kind of bacteria developed under there?

The walls were a bluish grey, and underneath it was beige. I know that because Carl was telling me that some patients like to pick at paint on the walls, and he asked me if I was one of those people. I said no. 

The ward was just one long, sad hallway with little inlets that led to three different rooms: the nurse’s station, the cafeteria, and the day room. The last door in the hallway was an exit to the outdoor recreation area with the smallest basketball court I’ve ever seen. Also along the hallways were the patient rooms. As I was led to the nurse’s station, I could hear the murmurs of patients in the day room. Some of them were staring. It was almost like a Cady Heron moment, though instead of an eccentric gay man to lead me through the halls, it was just Carl. Silent, tired Carl. 

I was told to sit in a chair next to the entrance. There wasn’t even a door. Carl stood there blocking it in an attempt to look like he was doing his job, but as a result, I couldn’t look to see what festivities were going on in the day room. I looked to my right instead, and there it was: a brown paper bag labeled _Corey Jensen_ sitting on top of a desk in front of a computer. Yes, seriously. 

Soon, I heard footsteps approaching. A middle aged woman wearing a white coat was revealed when Carl stepped out of the way. 

“Hi. Clay, is it?”

“Seems like you’re the only person that can get it right.” _Stupid paper bag._

She chuckled and stuck her hand out to shake mine. “I’m Dr. Julie Cohen. Nice to meet you, Clay.” Her hand was much warmer than mine. Not moving around a lot must’ve been the culprit. 

As she sat down in front of me in the small space, she placed her chart on my lap. I got a tiny glimpse of it. It read: _a danger to himself and others. 72-hour observation period required_. Great. Justin’s crying didn’t convince anyone. 

“Surely you know why you’re here, correct?” Dr. Cohen assumed I knew, and I did, but was there really a _reason_ or simply a _cause_?

“A traumatic ‘drill’ that scared everyone in the school?”

“You held a gun in front of your peers and went on a nervous rampage.”

“Because of the drill.”

“You know that you shouldn’t have taken an officer’s gun. You could’ve really hurt someone.”

“Seriously? That’s what you care about?”

“I care about you, not what the school did.” 

“What’re you here for, doctor?”

“To complete your evaluation.”

“To put a label on my emotions?”

“Clay, you’re here because your community is concerned for your wellbeing.”

“What ‘community’? I’m not crazy. I was scared.”

“And naturally, when we get scared, we act on impulse. When you had the gun in your hand, did you think about pulling the trigger on any of your peers?”

“No, I—”

“Did you think about pulling the trigger on yourself?”

“No! Why would I?”

“These are just questions I’m required to ask you.”

Dr. Cohen was already getting on my nerves, and she had only been talking to me for a short while. 

“What did you think you’d gain by waving an officer’s gun around?”

“Jesus, why are these questions so specific?”

“Would you like me to come back to them?”

“I’d like you not to ask me as if I did something wrong. I was scared, not deranged.”

“You don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to, but I think it would be beneficial for you to answer them so the school has less of a reason to press charges.”

“Press charges?! The school put _me_ in danger, not the other way around!”

“Clay,” Cohen put her hand on mine, “please lower your voice.”

I stayed silent. I didn’t want to answer any more of her prodding questions and I think she got the memo by the averted gaze.

“Why don’t I continue the evaluation tomorrow? Would that work better for you when you’ve had a chance to settle in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever.” 

She stood from her seat and reached over to grab my bag. She handed it to me. “You’re free to change once in your room, and Derek here will escort you there, then to the day room until it’s time for lights out. There’s a patient’s rights manual as well as a rulebook for the ward in your bag. You just focus on getting better, okay? We’re here to help you.” She put her hand on my shoulder, and when she noticed that I was unresponsive for a third time, she realized that was her cue to leave. 

So, Carl’s name was Derek. Fascinating. I continued to call him Carl, though.

“Let’s go, kid.” He went to grab my arm after a moment, but I yanked away and got up myself. I felt so vulnerable. Nobody understood that, except one person. 

My room had a second bed, so naturally I thought I had a roommate, but upon asking Carl, he said that I wouldn’t have one. Right. I was _a danger to_ myself _and others_. I chose the bed against the wall, and Carl waited outside for me. Only this time, he actually shut the door. It didn’t have a lock, and there was a small window to look in, but alas, it was more privacy than I felt strapped to that bed. 

I took the things out of my bag. There were two brown shelves next to my bed that were the size of a nightstand. I set my comics and journal on the very surface, my clothes besides the outfit I was going to change to on the second shelf, then the toiletries on the bottom. Thank God my mom brought some socks and black slides. I couldn’t stand being barefoot anymore.

The chosen outfit for tonight that I was going to sleep in was a grey crew neck sweater, navy blue sweatpants, and the obvious boxers & Nike slides. Psych ward couture, if you will. 

After I was done changing and looked to Carl to walk me to the day room like a lost puppy, I was greeted in the day room by another nurse who offered me a Rice Krispie treat. I was pretty hungry, so I took it. Carl announced to the other nurse that his shift was over and he was heading home for the night. She told him goodnight, and his blue scrubs and outdated crocs faded out of view. 

I looked around the room for a seat amongst the adults and young adults, but I didn’t really want to play bingo or converse about hallucinations with the older ones. There were chairs lined against the wall that weren’t accompanied by a round table. I sat next to a young guy who looked to be about twenty. He had fluffy brownish-red hair, parted in the middle, and was wearing a green flannel with red checkered pajama pants. He was also wearing the coveted yellow grip socks. 

I looked above me as I ripped open my Rice Krispie treat and to my delight, there was an analog clock, protected by a metal barrier. 8:37 P.M. Lights out was at 9:30, so I’d be here in this spot for the next hour. 

“What’re you in for?” The guy next to me asked, startling me.

“Sorry, what?”

“What’re you in for?”

“Uh—do people usually just straight up ask that question?”

The guy smiled smugly. “Newbie,” he said with interest. I gave him a confused look as to what he was implying.

“You’ve never been to a psych ward before.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well, yeah. You seemed uncomfortable with me asking why you’re in here. You don’t have to tell me, but you’re going to have to share in group therapy tomorrow. If it’s something crazy, the other guys might be scared of you. At least you’ll have one person that’ll back you up if you tell me now.” 

“Why wouldn’t you just back me up then?”

He hunched over from his original slumped position the chair, fingers intertwined together as his elbow rested on his knee. 

“What’s your name, newbie?”

“Clay Jensen.” I responded hesitantly. 

“Well, Clay Jensen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from several psychiatric admissions, it’s that you should never refuse a friend. It gets pretty lonely around here. I overheard that you didn’t have a roommate, so, what’s your damage?”

I rolled my eyes. I had forgotten that I didn’t have much privacy here. “My school had a stupid active shooter drill, but it seemed very real to everyone. There were gunshots and everything. I had left my hiding spot and the principal pulled me into his office and explained that it was just a drill. He called it off moments later, and as students began to come out of their hiding spots and were told to go back to class by him, I walked out shouting. I was scared and enraged. I thought I was going to die, and he was acting like we were supposed to just go back to normal. I went on an angry rant. There were officers there asking me to calm down, but I got in their faces. I stole one of their guns and asked if everyone felt safer. The principal begged me to put the gun down, but before I could, I was tackled to the ground. I kicked and screamed until I passed out from a blow to my head. Next thing I knew, I was strapped to a gurney and being taken out. I noticed my friends and people recording me as they pulled me out. I had never been so ashamed.”

The guy rested back into his seat. “Shit, man. That’s heavy. I’m sorry. That’s fucked up that your principal would even do such a thing. I would’ve needed therapy after that.”

“The funny thing is that I've been going to therapy consistently. I—I just snapped.”

“Yeah, I get that. We all have our moments. If there’s any advice I could give you, it’s just to tell them what they want to hear and you’ll be out of here as soon as your 72 hours are up.”

I stayed silent after that. I didn’t know what else to say. I was suffocating my Rice Krispie treat at that point. I slowly started to take bites of it. The guy next to me was also silent for about ten minutes. He probably wasn’t expecting that story from me, judging by how I raised my voice at Dr. Cohen. 

“I’m Ashton,” he said finally, “Ashton Miller.”

I turned to him and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Ashton.”

“You too, newbie.”

After that overdue introduction, Ashton grabbed Uno cards from the cluster of different board and card games. He asked if I knew how to play. I had never played Uno before, so I asked him to teach me. Time seemed to fly by as eventually the nurse with the Rice Krispie treat box in her arm announced, “alright, time for bed everyone”. Naturally, almost everyone moaned in disdain. 

Ashton and I glanced at each other. His hand grazed mine as he retrieved the cards from my fingers. A tingle shot down my spine. 

“See you tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yeah.” I replied. 

I was one of the last people to leave the day room as I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in the last hour. I was confused, but not angry about it either. 

I willingly headed back to my room and tugged the covers up from the foam mattress. I set them down to turn the lights off, then got into bed. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but I hadn’t slept in a twin bed since I was thirteen. I faced the window, which had been blacked out so people couldn’t just look in, but there was a small opening on the top to let some of the moonlight in. I stared at it and pondered whether or not I made the right decision to befriend Ashton. Before I knew it, I heard a knock on my door. 

I opened my eyes and was blinded by the lights. They must’ve gone on automatically at one point. The sun was shining bright through the small rectangle of visible outside that I could see.

“Breakfast and vitals.” A female voice said before I could hear her tennis shoes fade away. I could hear the echo of the same phrase from the room next door. She left the door open. 

I sprung up from bed and peeked outside. I was sure that my hair was a mess, so I smoothed it down with my hands. I went back inside to put on my shoes, then I went out into the hallway, shutting the large door behind me. 

I followed the small crowd of patients to the cafeteria, where a large cart of prepared breakfast platters with patient names awaited us. Before we could grab them, though, another nurse waited with a separate smaller cart of paper cups that you would normally use for condiments at a hotdog stand. I spectated to see what would happen when my turn came. Everyone’s temperature and blood pressure was taken, was told to take their medication in front of the nurse (if they were prescribed it), then asked what their goal for the day was. 

My turn finally arrived, and my vitals were swiftly taken. I had tried to practice a response to the goal question, but when it came, I still had no idea what to answer. The nurse hadn’t even acknowledged that I didn’t answer and gave me permission to grab my tray with my name stuck on the side of it. 

I grabbed my tray, which thankfully didn’t have Corey on it. I sat alone at a table and took the cover off my platter, getting a whiff of pancakes. There were pancakes, scrambled eggs that were grey on the bottom, two slices of bacon, and a styrofoam cup of green seedless grapes. A new nurse said that there was water and orange juice to drink from the big jugular dispensers in the corner next to some taller styrofoam cups. 

Another tray was set in front of me as I began to dig in with the plastic utensils. “Good morning, newbie.” I didn’t even have to look up to notice that it was obviously Ashton. I did look up to greet him with a smile, though. He pulled his chair in closer.

“Morning.” I replied.

“Did you sleep okay? I know those thirty minute flashlight check-ins can be a bitch.”

“Flashlight check-ins?”

He took a bite of his eggs, then used his knife and fork to gesture as he spoke. “Yeah, they look in every thirty minutes to see what you’re doing. You must be a heavy sleeper not to notice.”

“Well, I don’t usually sleep much at all, so it felt good to actually get some shut-eye without waking up in cold sweat.” 

Ashton nodded as he took another bite of his food, swallowing before speaking again.

“Are you ready for group today? Today we’re just coloring and talking about coping mechanisms. Should be fun to see what the crazies say.”

“Aren’t we all crazies to be locked in here?”

“In theory, yes. In actuality, no.”

We both continued to eat our food in silence while the radio was Overplayed Song Central softly in the background. 

“You asked me about what I was in for. I told you my story. So, what’s yours?” I inquired as we finished our food. Ashton had brought me some juice in between, but we only exchanged a thank you and you’re welcome. He looked disappointed that I asked.

“You don’t have to answer if you—”

“Suicide attempt.” 

I didn’t know what to say after that. It struck a nerve to hear that. Maybe Ashton would’ve ended up in the news like Hannah. Maybe there would’ve been a trial, but here he was in the flesh. He was lucky.

“Oh, shit, I—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he reassured me, “I’m okay now. I’ve served my 72 hours, but my discharge isn’t set until the end of next week. They just want insurance money, so you’ll probably get out of here before me.” 

“The end of next week? It’s Friday. That’s not fair.”

Ashton shrugged. “It is what it is, newbie. I’ll be fine.” He finally looked up from his tray, smiled, and tilted his head. He set his utensils down, grabbed a napkin and reached over to the corner of my lips, wiping a bit of food debris off. “I’ve got you as company.” 

My face flushed and got warm. I didn’t know what this feeling was, but by the way Ashton looked at me, he knew exactly what it was. 

“Want me to take your tray?” He asked as he stood up with his own.

“Yes, please.”

“You’re so polite. It’s adorable.” He chuckled, grabbed my tray and left me there to be in my mind for a moment. _I’m straight_ , I thought. _Should I tell him?_

After breakfast, everyone was told to wait in our rooms until group therapy started at ten, and it was 7:45, so I had some time to kill. I had dressed myself in a clean, but similar outfit to the one I wore the day before, then reached for my journal to the left, asking the nurse that came to check on me for something to write with. She came back with a dull golf pencil. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but it would do. 

_How do I even start a journal entry? How is anyone able to get their emotions out on paper like this instead of a 280 character tweet? I guess Dr. Ellman would tell me that it was all up to me on how to begin writing about my emotions. So, I’ll start with this: I’m confused. Why do I have a connection with this random ass guy in a psych ward? Why does he like me? I have so many questions. I’m not used to this. I’ve only been here one night. Why does my life feel like it’s changing so drastically all of a sudden? I’m straight. I’M STRAIGHT. I AM HETEROSEXUAL. Why is it so hard to believe myself? I’ve only dated girls. I finally had sex with the sheriff’s daughter, and I enjoyed it. Did I enjoy it? I think so. No, of course you did, you idiot. UGH. I have such bad luck with girls. Maybe this is a good thing. I’m not going to label myself yet. Just—let it happen. Get through your admission. At least you have a friend. Don’t fuck this up for yourself just because you don’t him to flirt. Let it be, Clay. I mean, at least this place isn’t as bad as I thought. I slept for once without nightmares, so that’s good. You’ll come out a better person. Wait, no, not come out. Yes. No. I don’t know. You know what I mean._

A knock and someone opening the door interrupted my neverending quarrel with my mind. 

“Clay Jensen?” 

I shut my journal and put the tiny pencil on top of it. “Yeah, um, that’s me.”

“Dr. Cohen wants to see you. I’m here to escort you.”

The nurse’s station was literally only ten steps away from my room, but of course, for ‘safety’, I had to be escorted. 

I sat in that same chair from the day before, but thank God, Carl’s condescending lazy ass wasn’t the one that stayed with me this time. Dr. Cohen soon entered the station and sat down. “Hello again, Clay. Did you sleep well last night? No nightmares?”

I assumed that she got that information from my original intake in the emergency room. “I did, actually. Slept through the routine checks apparently.”

“That’s great. It’s unfortunate that we have to have those in place, but you know that we just want to keep everyone safe, including you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Dr. Cohen clicked her pen open for use on a clipboard with a paper attached. Oh, how I wish I could’ve freely used a pen for my journal.

“I wanted to continue our conversation from yesterday, but I wanted to ask you diagnostic questions to determine your diagnosis and whether or not medication should be administered. Is that okay with you?”

I simply nodded.

“Alright, great, let’s get started.”

She began to ask procedural questions: _are you hearing voices? Are you hearing or seeing things that aren’t there? Have you thought about hurting yourself? Have you been withdrawn from friends and family?_ All of the little fixins to figure out what the hell was wrong with me and why Bryce Walker and Montgomery de la Cruz, two dead people, were tormenting me.

Dr. Cohen diagnosed me with some form of trauma (like PTSD, but not formally called PTSD), generalized anxiety, and something I hadn’t heard before: dissociative amnesia. 

“From what information you allowed Dr. Ellman to give me, it appears that you disassociate when you’re in a stressful situation, so you’re not even aware of what bad things you might be doing.”

“Sounds about right. I can’t remember half of the things I did.” 

“You were aware during your breakdown though, correct?”

“Yes. I was scared and angry.”

“Seems like you’ve been scared and angry for a while.”

I nodded. 

Dr. Cohen prescribed me duloxetine capsules that I used to be on when I was younger for the nightmares, but the main course of treatment for the dissociative amnesia was cognitive behavioral therapy. She would have to call my parents and confirm that medication would be alright with them. Since my hallucinations of Bryce, Monty, and Hannah were trauma related and more like a destructive coping mechanism rather than genuine hallucinations that made me pursue actions (besides the drill situation), cognitive behavioral therapy would also help a great deal. Medication for that was also on the table, but not recommended until I got used to the duloxetine.

She hadn’t questioned me much about the drill and didn’t try to pin the situation on me like it was my fault this time. I guessed it was because I was more cooperative and willing to tell her what has gone on in my life in the past two years. I had no other choice but to cooperate if I wanted to get out of here sooner rather than later.

I asked her why I didn’t get to have a roommate, and she said that it was because I had been labeled a high risk of harming others, but she believed that I deserved to be able to interact with the other patients at the very least. She knew that I would never purposefully hurt someone. She said that she could see in my face. Little did she know that I almost killed Bryce Walker, but she did know that I got blamed for his death and thrown in jail. She didn’t know the specifics of that particular situation, though. 

When my meeting with Dr. Cohen was over, the nurse that had brought me asked if I wanted to have dibs on the shower or the phone. She said I could use the phone at any time, but it was better to have a secure slot waiting for me in the middle of the day. I decided that I wouldn’t want either of the choices. I didn’t want to shower just yet. I wasn’t sure why, but it was most likely just nerves about having to use a shower that had been used by others. I couldn’t deny that I’m spoiled in that regard. 

I settled into my room once again, and picked up my comics. Alien Killer Robots, obviously. Though I was excited that my mom knew which title to pick, she picked a few that I had already read. I could forgive her for that, though. At least I had something to flip through instead of continuing to write down my thoughts. That would’ve been torturous. 

Time seemed to fly by as I examined every little piece of the comics I had. Soon enough, the nurse that escorted me back came and announced that it was time for group therapy. Finally, I didn’t have to just sit in silence anymore. 

I was brought into the day room for the first time and noticed the poorly painted murals of flowers on the walls to bring some color into this dull place. The artist was trying to go for realistic looking flowers, but they looked cartoonish regardless of how you looked at them. Maybe if you closed one eye and squinted with the other, it would seem realistic. Who was I to judge, anyway? I didn’t like painting that much as it is. 

I sat in the chair in the middle across from the therapist. She was young, and had large, red glasses that made her eyes look big. Ashton soon joined beside me as the other adults trickled in. There were coloring pages spread out across the table, and I picked one with a cupcake pictured that had sprinkles on top. They were all positive quotes, so I was lucky to find this one that wasn’t a cliché, ‘ _you are not alone’_ quote. Ashton chose one that said: _‘healing takes time’_. We both giggled at how he quietly mimicked all of the forced positivity. 

The meeting went by fast, and by then it was time for lunch. Vitals weren’t taken this time, but we were asked about one thing we’re grateful for. I said: my family, much like everyone else did. 

Lunch was some definitely-microwaved chicken nuggets, soggy crinkle cut fries, and an apple with some water or lemonade to drink. Ashton and I played Uno again simultaneously. I won every time. 

There were two more group therapy sessions and some outside time before dinner, then after dinner was visiting hours. Those who didn’t have visitors had to stay in their rooms for that entire time. Luckily for me, I had three visitors: my mom, Jessica, and surprisingly, Alex. 

I asked my mom where dad and Justin were. Dad had a deadline for a lesson plan, and Justin was at work. Mom mentioned that Justin was bummed that he couldn’t come, but he would come tomorrow. She let me talk to Jess and Alex alone. 

“How’re you doing? I chewed Bolan out about this. You shouldn’t be here.” Jess had a sorrowful look in her eyes. She wanted to pity me, but she knew that I wouldn’t have appreciated it.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I could use this. Dr. Ellman wasn’t helping much, anyway.” 

“Still, isn’t it scary?”

I was going to answer her, but Alex took the words right out of my mouth.

“Jess, these hospitals aren’t like the ones that you see in horror movies. I don’t hear anyone moaning about some demon.”

I chuckled. “Nothing has happened yet.”

“ _Yet_.” Jess emphasized. I rolled my eyes and so did Alex. 

“Why did you guys come with my mom?”

“I was going to come anyway,” Jess began, “but I didn’t want to without asking if it was okay.”

“Then she forced me to come with her because she thought one of the psychos would poke her.”

“Alex!” She smacked his arm, and he laughed. I shook my head and went to grab some water from the corner of the room. I came back over with the cup in my hand, then took a sip. “Sorry, I should’ve asked you guys if you wanted some.”

“It’s fine. Who knows what kind of drugs they put in it?” Alex wasn’t having any of Jess’s assumptions, but I thought it was funny.

“If there was drugs in this, I would’ve been acting way weirder right now.” 

We continued the conversation for a while, then they had let my mom join in. She was in tears, and said that she loved me. I reassured her that I was going to be okay, and that was the end of my visitation. There was still an hour left of the visitation window, so I had gone back to my room for the time being. Afterward, came the best and last part of the night before lights out. 

Ashton and I hung out again. We played some more Uno, and every time he feigned being enraged, a nurse would pay close attention to make sure he didn’t hurt me. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He was just making me laugh. 

The days that came were pretty much the same. Breakfast, vitals, group, lunch, group, outside time, group, dinner, social hour, then lights out. 

Saturday was my discharge day, but I was being picked up in the evening. Things were quieter than usual in the cafeteria during dinnertime between Ashton and I. 

“You’re quieter than usual.” I told him, shifting in my seat. He shrugged.

“I’m just kind of bummed.”

“About what?”

“Everything. You leaving, having to stay here, and my parents are disappointed in me for ending up here in the first place.”

I reached over and grabbed his hand. “Everything’s going to be okay. I gave you my number. You’ve hidden it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just,” Ashton looked at me with sad eyes, “what if I never see you again? You’re more stable than I am. Your parents won’t want you to talk to me. Everything would be better without me.”

That sentence alarmed me. I didn’t want to leave him alone like I did with Hannah. 

“Hey, no, that’s not true.” He started to cry, and I scooted closer to him. There was a ‘no touching’ rule, but it’s not like the nurses got paid enough to enforce it unless it was immediate danger. 

“Ash, you’re here because your parents care. There’s so many people that care. Your friends at Sanderson care. They want you to get back to school, and start your career in animation. You might not see the future now, but you have one. You have a future that’s happy. I promise.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I wouldn’t be telling you this if it weren’t true. I care about you, too. Look at me.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and we both leaned in. 

“ _I care about you._ ” I repeated in a whisper. Then, we kissed. I had never kissed a guy before, but it felt like a mixture of euphoria and shame. Were all of my past girlfriends just experiments? Or did they lead me to what I was supposed to see: the _real_ me?

Regardless of what I was supposed to see, I got scared in that moment and I pulled away just as Ashton was reaching up to caress my cheek. 

“I—I’m not—” I couldn’t even say that I wasn’t into guys aloud. Ashton stared angrily at me and stood. 

“Of course you’re not. You just pity me.” He stormed out, leaving his tray of food behind.

“Wait, no, Ashton, that’s not true!” I couldn’t catch him in time before he left, and the nurse told me to let him go or she would tell her supervisor that we broke the no touching rule. I couldn’t risk that. My discharge was _today_. The savior in me wanted to run after him, but the realist in me took over. I sat back down and put my head in my hands, frustrated.

I didn’t see Ashton after that until later on, but it wasn’t good. 

Dr. Cohen needed to talk to my parents before I left about my treatment coming forward. As she spoke to my parents, and I sat there listening, we heard, “CODE BLUE” being yelled by one nurse, and the others rushed to the site. We all stood to see what was going on, and what I saw broke my heart. Ashton was lifeless on the floor. I slapped a hand over my mouth, tears threatening to pour down my face. _Not again_ , I thought. _Not again._

“Ashton!” I yelled, and tried to get over there, but my mom held me back in a tight hug. She knew about Ashton and I becoming friends, but she didn’t know anything about what I felt towards him. Or, to be more specific, what we felt towards each other. 

Dr. Cohen rushed over and asked what happened, and I heard a nurse say two dreaded words: suicide attempt.

She then receded into her office to hit the emergency button that would alert the on-call EMTs, then brought us into the only office that had a door. All I did was look back at the sight in tears. 

Both my mom and Dr. Cohen asked me if I was alright, and to that I didn’t reply. The doctor asked that my mom keep me extra safe now that I saw that situation. She agreed as she rubbed my arm in an attempt to comfort me. 

Eventually, I was released and saw the real outside world for the first time in 72 hours. All I could think about was Ashton, though as I saw him being wheeled out on a gurney into an ambulance that was en route to the other side of the hospital. 

“Do you want to stay with him?” asked my mom as she opened the back door for me. I nodded as I climbed in, and she handed me my phone. She had charged it for me. 

Originally, my dad didn’t want me to go sulk over some guy that I barely knew, but when you’re in a place like a psychiatric ward where everyone is usually sharing their deepest secrets, days with someone can feel like months. That’s how I felt with Ashton, anyway. 

I was brought into a waiting room on the other side of the hospital. My parents stayed for a while, but it was getting late. They went home. I was informed that my dad drove my car over, so I was handed my keys for whenever I got home.

Around 10:30 at night, a man and a woman sat across from me, looking distraught.

“Ash is going to be okay. He’s a strong boy.” The man said as the woman cried in his shoulder.

I had moved to sit next to them, and eventually mustered up the courage to say: “excuse me?” They both looked at me with sad, sunken eyes. 

“I’m Clay Jensen—”

“We know who you are, son.” The man interjected.

“H—How?”

“Ashton told us all about this Clay boy.” The woman smiled, chuckling a little. “I thought that he was just being guy crazy again, but the fact that you’re here tells me a lot.”

I smiled back. “He,” I paused, “he’s the only person that reached out to me. I sat next to him the night of my admission. He made me feel comfortable.”

“He has always been a sweetheart.” The mom put her hand on top of mine. I grasped it comfortingly with my other hand. 

Around 11 P.M., a female doctor approached the waiting room. “Ashton Miller?” 

The three of us stood upon hearing his name. 

“I have good news. He’s breathing.” The relief fell over us. “We saved him just in time. He’s asleep right now, but he can have visitors. Room 380B.”

“Thank you.” Ashton’s mom hugged the doctor, and she hugged back, then left.

“Why don’t you go first, Clay?”

“Oh, I couldn’t. That’s your son.”

“I insist.” His mom said, and his dad nodded in agreement. 

They followed me to room 380B, and waited outside. I walked in, saw Ash asleep on the bed as if nothing bad had happened. I didn’t know how he tried to kill himself, but that wasn’t important anymore. He was alive; _again_.

I pulled up a chair next to him and held his cold hand. His eyes fluttered open. 

“Hey, newbie.” He said in a raspy voice. 

“Hey.” I said, tears falling from my eyes. I was going to grab his parents, but he squeezed my hand.

“Stay.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, but in a clearer voice this time. 

“You’ve got to stop trying to save people.” I froze, confused at the choice of conversation.

“Wh—What do you mean?”

“Go home, Clay. I want you to.”

“But I want to stay with you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t have left me behind, but it’s time for you to go home. Please, just let me go.”

“I’m not going. Not now, not ever.”

“Hannah would’ve appreciated that.”

My eyes widened. _I never told Ashton about Hannah._

I let go of his hand and rubbed my eyes. He was asleep. He hadn’t been talking to me this entire time. It was in my head. The only sound in the room was the EKG. 

I blinked away tears and stood up. Maybe it _was_ time for me to go home. Ashton was alive, and that was a good thing. 

On my way out, I gave his parents my phone number and address in case they needed anything, then drove home trembling. My medication had yet to kick in. It had only been a few days. 

I took my nightly dose in the driveway when I got home with some old water left in a bottle that I found on the side of my door. 

I was finally back home, safe from everything. I was still worried about Ashton, but all I was thinking about in that moment was my bed. I got into the Outhouse, and Justin jumped up to pull me in a hug. It wasn’t entirely weird for hugs between us anymore, but I still wasn’t used to it. 

“You okay?” he asked, “You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“I bet. Lainie told me what happened.”

I flopped onto my bed, set my phone on my nightstand, and sighed. 

“So, this Ashton dude,” Justin inquired smugly as he lied on his side to face me.  
“Oh, God, don’t look at me like that. He’s in the hospital for a suicide attempt.”

“Yeah, and that’s awful, buuuuut, do you like him like _that_?”

“I’m straight, Justin.”

“That’s not what I got from when you told me that you had feelings for me way back when. Dude, it’s 2019. You can love whoever you want.”

I shut off my lamp and turned away from him. “Goodnight.”

He chuckled and shook his head, reaching to turn his own lamp off. I could hear his covers rustle as he got underneath them. “Night. Glad you’re back.”

I opened my eyes and smiled briefly before closing them again.

I wouldn’t see Ashton again for two months after my admission, and I never received texts back from him or his parents. I suspected the worst, but on a Saturday morning, that changed. 

“Clay, someone’s here to see you.” Mom had answered the knock prior to telling me that. I took a sip of my coffee straight from the keurig, then set my mug beside Justin, who had been digging into some scrambled eggs. I went outside to see Ashton standing on the grass in the front yard. I smiled so big.

“Hey, newbie.” He waved a box of Uno cards. “Got time for a game?” 

I shut the door behind me and ran outside, embracing him tightly. “Missed you.” I whispered. 

“Missed you, too.”

We both sat on the grass with our legs crossed with some space in the middle for the deck and our stack as we played. 

“Sorry for not answering any of your calls or texts. I went to some stupid residential program, and they wouldn’t let me have my phone. It was the worst. My mom and dad just simply forgot your ass, so, sorry about that too.”

I laughed and picked up my cards as he gave them to me. “It’s okay. I get it.”

We played, and I was so close to winning, but it was clear that he arranged the cards to be a certain way because his last card had a question written on it: _will you go out with me?_

I smiled bigger than I ever had before, nodded, and pulled him in for a kiss. A real one. 

He cupped my cheek as our lips moved in sync, then we slowly pulled away. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Ashton said, and we both laughed together. 

He would end up picking me up that evening to go to a Color Me Mine style class, and we both had the best time. We decided to walk there, so on our walk home, hand-in-hand, I started a conversation. 

“I had this friend. Her name was Hannah Baker. She’s kind of the reason I got so lucky.”

  
  



End file.
